


Roads meant to meet

by emocsibe



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Getting Together, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, hinted Vasquez/Faraday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 14:39:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8756539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emocsibe/pseuds/emocsibe
Summary: “Billy Rocks will suffice” Billy nodded, eyes cast downward to the rocky road they were going on.“I can get used to that. You almost look like a born and raised Billy” Goodnight said, and passed his flask to Billy “Drink, this’s your name-day after all.”He drank, and with the new name and the alcohol burning his throat, he gave a small yet thankful smile as he threw the drink back. Not all Americans were bad, or at least, their God put there a few good ones too, maybe just for the likes of him. To help those who are alone.Or, ladies and gentlemen, my take on how their relationship grew.





	

It was once again a day of fighting himself through a bunch of hateful drunks only to be declined when asking for a drink, dead tired and done with everything. And then again, more people came in the inn to tame the man from far afar – namely him -, and he was pretty sure back then that he will lose that fight and die. He fought viciously, angered by the narrow-sightedness white men seemed to excel in practicing; slashed and stabbed with deadly precision in every direction he sensed anyone in, completely foregoing using the gun strapped to his belt – mostly for the effect, still being less than decent with it. That was why he stopped for a heartbeat when he heard the gun go off – had someone just shot at him? Did they truly not have any decency or honour to them – he thought, ducked a late arriving punch, then everything went silent. No one seemed to pay attention to him anymore, rather than to the figure in the doorway, holding a smoking gun, aimed at the wooden floor. He hadn’t shot a single soul yet stopped a brawl. The Korean smirked; he liked clever men who thought first, shot later – well, in case the shot was still faster than the opponent’s. 

The man was wearing clothes close to military uniforms in colour and style with a tie – no, no; an ascot- in such a perfect knot that it spoke of fine manners, and a hat, concealing his eyes. He was standing still, with his back straight, his other hand on his hip, and even after the cacophony he must have witnessed, ha was looking downwards as if patiently waiting for the mob to focus on him and him alone. When they did, however, he raised his head and looked around. His eyes were angry but his voice was calmed by willpower as he spoke.

“Alright, gents, the fight is over. You go on your merry way now, acting as grown and civilised men and leave the boy alone. Or may God have mercy on you if I’ve to pull the trigger the second time.”

“An’ who you gotta be to say us this?” someone slurred then the overall grumbling and snickering began anew, until the newcomer raised his gun – only slightly, only gently, as if weighing it, yet it got the whole pub silent again. 

“Name’s Goodnight Robicheaux, pardon my manners. If any of you have a problem with my friendly advice, we can work it out outside” he smirked, then pointed his pistol’s end towards the exit “I’ve seen at least three coffins readied on my way here, I believe we could find a use for them, if anyone insists.”  
If anyone had ever told the Korean man that a simple name could put a whole room of angry men at such a frightened and awed state in the same time, he would have had laughed at their story. Now, he had witnessed it with his own eyes. Any kind of person this Goodnight was, he had earned fame and respect that reached even here. 

Intimidated and unbelieving the lot went back to their lives and tasks, some still giving him one or two hateful looks, but if that was everything he had to receive, he would only shrug and forget it. Well, such was not his luck apparently, but hey, he still kicked so it was good.  
He staggered backwards a bit, back hitting a pillar, as the man started to approach him, sheathing his gun and pulling out a kerchief from the pocket of his vest, offering it to him with a friendly motion of his hand. He took it and padded his face with it, not daring to wipe it in case there were deeper wounds waiting to be torn by an angrily drawn across material. 

“You speak any English, friend?”

“Some. Who are you?”

“Goodnight Robicheaux, although I thought everyone caught it for the first time” he actually smiled, a genuine action coming from a white man, which was - at least based on his earlier experiences – surprising, to say at least. 

“The name I’ve caught. The person behind it is what’s still unfamiliar to me.” His English pronounciation was like his every move, act or thought; still too foreign, still not fit into the western world enough. The way he spoke always gave him away as a foreigner, but it was understandable as well as decently constructed. 

“Maybe we should settle for a drink for that” came the offer from Robicheaux “although I’d advise another tavern for that. Here the air seems a bit uneasy, what do you say?”

“Let’s go.”

And they went.

***

By the time they reached another small and dusty town with a dustier tavern, they had agreed on a few things, the first being the Korean’s name, which gave Goodnight a hard time to remember, and harder to pronounce. With this, and with Goodnight’s first advice related to the western society to him he decided to change the only thing he yet had of his origin and could be altered; his name. On the road he threw the old away, and asked for a new one, which Robicheaux was ready to provide. He offered a few, then smiled warmly when after a good hour of silence the first words from his companion formulated a completely western name.

“Billy Rocks will suffice” Billy nodded, eyes cast downward to the rocky road they were going on.

“I can get used to that. You almost look like a born and raised Billy” Goodnight said, and passed his flask to Billy “Drink, this’s your name-day after all.”  
He drank, and with the new name and the alcohol burning his throat, he gave a small yet thankful smile as he threw the drink back. Not all Americans were bad, or at least, their God put there a few good ones too, maybe just for the likes of him. To help those who are alone.  
The other thing they had agreed on was that Billy had better learn how to hit something with a bullet and not only with a knife.

“Your life might depend on it one day” Goodnight held out his own pistol as he was explaining things about guns “What if you have all your knives and daggers thrown, or otherwise too far to reach? You have to possess a second line of defence. And besides, if you can throw a blade, you must have excellent aim. You only need practice if you have that.”

“I can do that.”

“Good, I’ll teach you if you want to be taught. Or you can do it alone if you prefer.”

“You are a sharpshooter, are you not? Why would I decline such an offer?”

“A white man telling you what to do must not be the best pastime you can imagine, I bet.”

“A man is first good or not, only after that is white or not.”  
Goodnight looked thoughtful at that remark, then nodded, slowly, as if he was rethinking his sentence. Then nodded again, this time with more surety, and looked at him.

“You are right and you are wise. I presume, you have seen a fair share of shite in your life to have such understanding.”

“Only enough to be the man I am now. I have known horrible men and a few nice ones, too – I can tell them apart. And you seem to be a good person, Goodnight.”  
Robicheaux fell silent after that, not reacting in any other way to Billy’s statement. Silence fell, and lasted almost until they reached the porch of the tavern; only then did Goodnight reach out and stop him in his track. He struggled with the words and he didn’t look Billy in the eyes. 

“I am not… Not a good man, Billy. But I’m trying to be one. Still, I wanted to thank you. What you earlier said. Ehm, thanks.”

“When I truly know you, Goodnight Robicheaux, I will tell you whether you are one or not again.”

“So, are you going to tag along?”

“Yes.”

And he did. 

***

The first time Billy had accepted an invite to a friendly duel, Goodnight was worried; he hid it well, but not well enough for the Korean man. He drew his brows together when the cover slipped an hour before the fight – he was looking at the man pacing around in their shared room, seemingly unaware of his showing unease. Would anyone have asked Billy whether they were friends, he would’ve answered with a yes. Even though it had been only a bit more than a month that they had known each other, they had built up such a strong understanding and respect towards one another, grew so close that it almost seemed unlikely. They shared stories and beliefs, as well as the ways of using their own choices of weapons. Billy was better with the gun than Goodnight was with the knives, and even better than the people they had engaged in fights with. He was becoming a hell of a shooter, Robicheaux could tell, and he felt proud – finally his skills were used for good, for the protection of a great friend. He had told this his friend too; that he was making a wonderful progress, that he was faster than others and deadly correct with aiming the gun, too –, however, he would have never thought that Billy would accept such an invitation after so little of a time spent practicing.  
It was understandable – he reasoned – that he would be concerned – anything could go wrong; the opponent may have hidden intentions like shooting the man in the head and not that damned can, or Billy could loose and then he would be despised for more than his origins. He had grown to trust him with his life, and in a normal fight he would have never doubted his skills in defending himself or others - but getting closer to the set date, he couldn’t find it in himself to actually think it over rationally and calm down. 

He stopped circling the room only when his hand was grabbed by none other than the man he was concerned about. Billy’s grasp was true to his profession; gentle yet strong, the flesh of his palm hidden by fingerless leather gloves. It was warm, having been worn all day, and Goodnight was somehow thankful for the feeling; he really needed something to grab onto, maybe mentally more so than physically. He turned to look into those so different but so familiar eyes, and released a sigh.

“It is going to be okay, isn’t it?”  
Billy nodded, and led him to a chair, pushing him down onto it, while he himself remained standing in front of him. 

“You know, all of them said this. And they are dead. I saw them die. I don’t want to… I cannot bear if…I am sorry, I…”

“Look at me, Goodnight. Look at me and breathe” Billy was kneeling down between his legs, right hand on his knee, left still grasping his trembling fingers “I am going to win. I am going to be back. I am not going to leave you.” He was looking into Robicheaux’s eyes, unblinking, determination clearly showing on his features, then let go of his friend’s leg, reaching behind himself and pulling out one of his shorter daggers complete with its scabbard from his belt. He held it out, waiting for Goodnight to take it, who just stared at him, eyes dazed, questioning him without a word.

“You take this, and I will have to come back for it.”  
Goodnight moved fast, took the blade and clutched to his chest, tears almost starting to graze down on his cheeks. Billy reached up and cleared them with his fingers – his touch warm, warm and alive.

“You promise?”

“I do.”

The appointed hour found them side by side next to the wooden ring, quietly chatting about neutral topics, like the chain on Goodnight’s pocket watch needed some repair and how Billy had found better than decent knives he could buy from his share of money. The small dagger that hung from Robicheaux’s belt never once came into question. 

His opponent arrived with his head held too high, clearly too overconfident for his own good. If this was a real duel, it would end real badly for him, they both thought, looked at each other and then Billy went. Goodnight was unknowingly tracing his new dagger’s handle with idle fingers, remembering the unkeepable yet comforting promise the Asian man had made, somewhat calming himself during the process.  
The man asked to be the jury got there at the moment when they took their places, asked for their names and recited the rules. Shooting only the can, fastest wins. He held up his gun with a loud “on my mark”. The watchers tensed, and Billy relaxed. The other man seemed five seconds from shitting himself. Good. The jury’s shot rang, closely followed by two others.

The can next to Billy was unscratched, the other one next to the other participant became six little can-fragments.  
Those betting on the man from the east, cheered, and the others shouted their insults, but Goodnight just went around holding out his hat, collecting the money Billy had earned them. He was relieved and proud – it always seemed to come to this when he was thinking about his friend -, but mostly angry. He couldn’t wait to get back to their room and curse that foolish good-for-nothing opponent’s father for not teaching him how to aim. The bullet he shot almost got Billy in the stomach, slightly gone to the right and piercing the railing.  
Based on Billy’s expression as soon as the door closed behind them back in the salon, he noticed it too, alongside with the rage he felt, yet surpassed for their trip back. Just as sooner that day, he took Goodnight’s right hand, grasped it between his owns, and turned his head a bit upwards, catching the other man’s eyes. They were full of agony and desperation – eyes of a man who had seen too much, lost too much. 

“I’m here, Goodnight. Are you?”

“Yeah. But he almost got you. He was such a fool trying this and dragging you along” Robicheaux turned his head, let out a slow sigh then raised his free hand, and patted Billy on the shoulder, releasing a small but wholehearted smile when turning back “Otherwise, it was a mighty fine shot you did there, friend. Worthy of a little celebration, what do you think?” 

“I’d rather clean up first.” 

“Well, isn’t that a nice thought? I could also use some cleaning with all that dust settling on me here” Robicheaux agreed, then sent for two basins of water and some cloth.

They towelled themselves down quickly, taking away most of the dirt clinging to their skin – nonetheless, Goodnight was already planning their next route so they could freshen up some more in a river. He told Billy his plan, who nodded appreciatively, face lighting up a bit from the promise of some real bathing possibility. He had a fondness for lakes and rivers, for being able to swim and dive underwater, which Goodnight found somewhat amazing; most people he had met didn’t even know how to keep themselves on top of the water and then here was Billy. He became a different man whenever the opportunity to swim arose, playful and so content, it was a rare sight. When asked, he had told him that one of his reason was that his hair needed real washing from time to time, not only a wet cloth drawn across it, or it became itchy and irritating, which he just couldn’t stand.  
Billy padded to him, holding out his own rag, then turning away without a word, waiting for Goodnight to start scrubbing his skin. It was their routine when getting clean; Robicheux would wash his back and vice versa. Some would have frowned if they had known, but for the pair of them it was the most practical thing to do; besides, they trusted each other as no one else. 

Billy always got distressed when having someone behind himself, more so when blades or other object of shady usage were involved – this was the main reason he never visited a barber (and even when Goodnight did, he tagged along, watching out for him the whole time). When it came to his friend, however, he turned his back with closed eyes and relaxed muscles, because he felt that his trust was not misplaced in him. He actually enjoyed these small moments of peace; with his guard down and hands tracing his back with a not fully cold rag, he felt content and happy.  
Goodnight also shared this sentiment; he turned all smiles and cheery laughter when his back was tended to – Billy’s method of working out kinks from his muscles only adding to the pleasant experience. He had trusted few in his life since the war had ended, but the Asian man was one of them – maybe the most trusted of them all. As he felt his skin getting lighter and cleaner, he couldn’t stop but start to hum some little tunes, enjoying the care he received. 

“You know, this was the best idea. Maybe the best way to celebrate, too” it was Goodnight who spoke first as they were getting dressed, looking away and thus not noticing the other man staring at him. 

“I hope some drinks will be also included in this celebration of ours” Billy replied, tearing his sight from Goodnight’s form, gathering and securing his hair in the top of his head, silvery pin keeping it together. Goodnight grabbed the black hat that usually sat on Billy’s head, and pressed it onto the dark locks with a smirk.

“Naturally. We are going to drink something mighty fine.”

***  
Weeks after that they actually got their chance to have a proper bath at a small and clear lake, undisturbed by other people. It was hot and sunny, but luckily the trees had provided decent shadows for them to actually enjoy the weather. They were once again without clothes, Billy in the water submerging and reappearing, as if he was a playing child, and Goodnight sitting on a blanket next to the lakeshore. He was relishing in the warm feeling the sun on his skin was giving him, occasionally turning his head to look at his friend. He had to admit that after decades of convincing himself about not liking men the way he did, he was still pretty much falling for Billy Rocks, and being so casual around one another warmed his heart in one hand and terrified him on the other. He also had contradictory thoughts about being found out; he wanted to admit his adoration and growing love to him and at the same time, he wished he could bury his feelings deep down, alongside with the images of possible outcomes where Billy leaves him alone after figuring it out. 

Billy waved a hand towards him, inviting him into the water and he slipped into the lake without a second thought. He could swim decently, and he also liked the cool feeling around his body, the calmness that overtook him sometimes while surrounded by small waves created by his own motion. Where he was not slow nor fast in his movement, Billy was a hurricane; always quick and precise, so it almost did not take him by surprise when the other man tapped his back; Goodnight hadn’t even noticed that he had dived down again.

“You are all tense again, old man” Billy said and slid his hand along Goodnight’s shoulders, circling the muscles lightly, not being able to use a lot of pressure while keeping himself above the water. 

“I might be old” Robicheaux closed his eyes and let his head fall forwards, giving access to his neck too “But you are older.”  
Billy only hummed in agreement, and continued to trace the back in front of him, only with fingertips, so carefully, so softly, it made Goodnight think. Maybe it wasn’t just him, wanting to touch and kiss and love. Maybe. After a few moment they separated, and Billy went ashore while Goodnight washed up. 

Billy lay on the blanket his friend had been using some time ago, letting the sun dry his skin, thinking about the sharpshooter’s earlier reactions. He didn’t shy away, on the contrary; he seemed to enjoy the attention Billy was giving him. He thought about hiding his attraction for some time longer, but he didn’t want to. He decided to tell Goodnight how he felt, how he wanted him, as soon as he was out of the lake. So when he heard the sloppy footsteps, he reached out in his friend’s vicinity, asking him to come closer. Even if he was to receive reactions that differed from his heart’s wish, he knew that their friendship would not end; Goodnight was far too wise and collected to let some admission ruin what they have had built between themselves.  
And he came without a question, sitting beside him, facing him, one of his thighs flush against Billy’s waist, eyes never wandering away from his face. Billy’s, however, did wander; he looked at his whole person, tracing every line with his sight - a nervous yet hoping smile was playing on his lips and Goodnight unsurely smiled back.

“You know, most men would not like to be stared at like that. Not by other men at least.”

“Are you one of them? Shall I look away?”

“No. No, you shouldn’t. I love it when you look at me like that” with that, Goodnight leaned closer, watching Billy’s smile grow, his face brighten and his hand reach for him.

“Good. I love looking at you” were Billy’s last words before pulling Goodnight down, kissing him on the lips sweetly, calmly; just a press, a moment of truth. When they parted they both felt dizzy, only realising what had transpired between them – and Goodnight started laughing. 

“Oh God. You are beautiful and fantastic, Billy… But I’d though that we would never… That you would never… Oh, God and yet you do” he let out a shaky breath and lay down beside the Asian man, arms going around him, holding him close. Billy nuzzled even closer and kissed Goodnight’s shoulder, his neck, his jaw; the other had said the words he also wanted to – words of disbelief and relief and utter happiness. 

“I am happy with you, Goody” he said and closed his eyes, trying to memorise Goodnight’s touch on his back, on his sides and arms – soft caresses that were unfamiliar to the both of them. 

“Just as I am with you” came the answer, and Billy let his own fingers map the other’s body; his back and shoulders were familiar to him, and they had seen each other naked, but this felt new, and raw, being able to touch as and wherever he’d have liked. He followed each muscle on Goodnight’s chest with his fingertips, and received similar, loving caresses in return. 

Hours later they were on their way again, a brand new, yet already known feeling set aflame in their hearts. 

***

The first few weeks were the worst after that. Goodnight had already had half a hell to battle every unconscious moment with, but then he had started to fight during the day – so different demons but not any less deadly. He thought that what they shared with Billy, what had grown between them was shoving in his movements, in his eyes and the way he talked, the way he called the Asian’s name. He fell asleep even later than he’d used to and found less rest in his time spent asleep. Billy tried to help him, but every time he looked at him, at the man he loved, the man he might have condemned, he felt guilt rise in his chest and turned away his helping hands, his helping words and worried questions. His nightmares had doubled and the shadows under his eyes had grown, until he couldn’t go on anymore. They were on their way again, Billy already on his feet, leading his horse to the nearest tree, while Goodnight was still in his saddle, head light and hands cold. He raised on leg above the horse’s back and slid down, but when his feet hit the ground, they couldn’t keep him up. He collapsed like a boneless ragdoll, horse jumping away, hooves missing his head only by inches; but he didn’t see this, his eyes were closed long before he felt the fall itself. 

Billy was by his side in a heartbeat, checking his pulse, his breath, his temple searching for any sign of sickness, fever maybe. Goodnight’s temperature was higher, not a decent fever, but close to that - with the scarce sleep he had been getting, it was no surprise. Still, he had to do something, so he dragged the man under the trees, into the cool shadows, then poured some water between his lips. Goodnight swallowed, so powerless, so shaky – it wasn’t the man Billy had met half a year ago. It was a terrified man, who wasn’t only running from the images carried from the battlefield. 

“What makes you so afraid, Goody?” he whispered into his hair after kissing his head “Get better and tell me. I will fight it for you.”  
Billy Rocks was no doctor or nurse, but he did everything he could to help his friend – his lover – get back on his feet. He made sure that Goodnight drank enough, that he was always hidden from direct sunshine. He stripped him of his jacket and waistcoat, buttoning his shirt open, pressing wet kerchiefs to his chest as well as to his forehead. By next day, his temperature seemed to return to normal, the bags under his eyes lessened and he came to around midday. Billy was cooking some beans for himself – and Goodnight if he woke up –, but it became forgotten when he heard his name, Goody’s voice still lacking strength. He hurried to him, giving the man the flask, helping him to sit upright and drink. 

“What happened?” Goodnight rasped as he looked around, taking in the place and the worried face the other man was sporting. 

“You collapsed. What is going on, Goody?” Billy sat next to him, taking his hand in his, slowly massaging the softest part of his palm. “I know you have not been sleeping well. Even worse than usual.”  
Goodnight remained silent, only turning his head away, with a huff of breath that was clearly pained. 

“What if they know, Billy? I cannot sleep when they could be coming to take you away from me. To hurt you. Kill you… I couldn’t bear it.”

“Goody. Look here” the Asian man leaned into the other’s line of sight, not releasing his hand, never breaking contact “I can defend myself and they do not know. Even if they did, they are too busy and keen on living. Because, Goody, whoever tries to hurt you, will have to face me. This I promise. Look here. We are in this together, right?”

“Yeah. We are. I just…”

“Shh. Let them think whatever they want. They will be only thoughts – and thoughts will not harm us. What you are doing to yourself will. Let me help you with it.”

“Okay. I… Right. You are right. I will. Thank you” looked at Billy, then hugged the man close, burying his face in his neck. It was comforting and warm, and he cursed himself for keeping Billy away, for not embracing him sooner after his nightmares began, for not seeking his help out. “I trust you the most, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, Goody. I know.” Billy smiled at Goodnight, and pulled away briefly from him, only to kiss him a second later. His heart fluttered as Goodnight returned the gesture, slowly nipping at his lips, his warm hands sliding onto his neck and jaws. It was fantastic to be held by him again, to know that even if it might be a hard road to take, they were going to brave it together. 

***

There were nights when Billy woke up to Goodnight’s pained breaths, or his elbows hitting him in the stomach while tossing and turning, sweat rolling from his skin. He would kiss him then, carefully not to wake him too fast or too abruptly, which seemed to work. They would cuddle after that, Goodnight retelling him what he had been seeing in the dreams, on the battlefield, and Billy would comb his hair with his fingers, his legs anchoring Goodnight to him.  
It was after one of Goodnight’s dreams that he started crying in Billy’s embrace – he couldn’t stop for a second, and even if they were silent tears, the force they were trying to escape was still shaking the man. Billy held him close, chest to chest, thumbs wiping away teardrops from his cheeks.

“I killed you. I killed you Billy” he choked out, gripping his lover’s arm, looking heartbroken and miserable “When we first met, I saw you die. By my hand.”

“But I am here, look. I am holding you, Goody. It’s okay.”

“No, no, no, no. It was my task, I should have captured you, killed you and I couldn’t and now I’ve seen it and I cannot bear it” Goodnight looked absolutely terrified by then, his eyes searching for Billy’s, not really seeing anything in the darkness of their room.

“Did my masters’ relatives hire you?”

“Yes. They told me you were a murderer, had to be taken down, but you weren’t and I just… I thought…”

“I killed them, Goody. They had it coming; I had my reasons. They were not good people” Billy’s expression became grim, his eyes cold and unforgiving. He closed them but images came back with the speed of a lightning, so he opened them again, and looked at his lover. He pulled him closer, circling his hands around his waist, and kissed his shoulder, as tenderly as possible “Forgive me, but I have to ask: which is scaring you more now? That you saw me dead or that you are seeing me alive?”

“I could never regret getting to know you, befriending you or loving you. I believe you when you say, the kills were rightly earned. But I never again want to see you dead, not in a dream nor in my waking hours. Never. Does this answer your question?”

“Yes, love. Go back to sleep. I will guard your dreams.”

“I wish you could, Billy. But your presence is enough. Calms me down.”

“Rest then. We are traveling tomorrow.”

“Good night, Billy.”  
And Billy only smiled and kissed Goodnight’s lips once again, before letting sleep claim him.

***

Goodnight knew that he was a coward, but oh, how he’d underestimated his own fears – he was cursing himself, tears prickling his eyes as he rode away from Rose Creek. He left Billy behind, the man not once showing up at his side as he usually would. No; he made it easier for Goodnight, even knowing that one less fighter meant a great deal more chance for them to die. And beautiful Billy, kind and nice Billy didn’t make the decision harder with lingering around, reminding him of what he was going to lose. The one he owed his life to, his lover and four other, brave men that remained to fight a desperate battle – one he was afraid to see through. They will die side by side – he thought, and the pain in his chest grew larger. He had said it himself: wherever he goes, Billy goes too; and wherever Billy goes, he follows him. But not now, not when it mattered the most; Billy was going to die without him, and he is going to live without his better half. He halted his horse.  
Living without Billy seemed so much worse than dying beside him – the thought was sudden and horrible, and it seemed that Goodnight realised only then what he had done. He sat there frozen, afraid to turn back and afraid to move forward, but then he remembered what Billy’s kisses and embraces felt like, and he made the turn, and urged his horse to go as fast as it could. 

Billy rarely drank, not alone and not to forget, but right then and there he couldn’t care less about his habits. Goody was gone, and he felt terrible for wishing the man was there. Goodnight will live – he told himself as he chugged back another glass of whatever was in the bottle –, but he wanted to see him before leaving this world, and he was pretty sure that it was bound to happen. He halted his drinking when Red Harvest, Horne and the others entered, and went to sleep, just as Chisolm had advised them to do. He dreamt of Goodnight; his smiles, his hands on Billy’s waist, their lips together. When he woke, he felt even more miserable than the night before, but he didn’t let the others see what was going on inside his soul – although he could have sworn that Sam looked at him with pitying and knowing eyes.

It was a magnificent sight, when Goodnight appeared from nowhere, his horse jumping over the flaming carts, his rifle smoking and his eyes set on the task at hand. He was more focused as ever, and his expression only softened when he was settling down beside Billy in the tower of the renovated church. He was pleasantly surprised when Billy told him he had known that he would return, that he’d believed him when even he couldn’t in himself. Billy threw him his flask, black and silver and so dear to him – a gift from Billy given after the third year of their partnership. Goodnight smiled and leaned closer stealing a quick kiss from the Asian man, lips dry and his breath hot against Billy’s mouth.

“If we survive Billy… Let’s visit that lake again, alright?” Goodnight said with a determined face, with a pained glint in his eyes which spoke well of his fear of not getting out alive from this fight. 

“When this is over, yes.” Billy reloaded his rifle and aimed at the man trying to stop Red Harvest who was climbing onto the top of the house closest to where the Gatling was set up. Faraday also was watching the native’s back, pistols smoking with greater intensity than he and Goody would after a night full of nightmares. Goodnight also joined him, and Billy knew he should not be enjoying this –because killing people is bad – but fighting alongside his lover, the famous sharpshooter really gave him the thrills. After hearing a shot and seeing some of Bogue’s men fall right after – it was more he could have ever asked for. Maybe – he thought – this is what Goody needed to experience. Helping people to overcome such evil of a man and his gang, killing people who were not fighting for any cause called noble or just, but for their own pleasure and power. Maybe it could cover some of his past’s remains, some of Goody’s scars on his soul.  
They watched with confusion as Vasquez appeared, a few of Red Harvest’s arrows in his hands – no doubt pulled from the corpses littering the ground. He threw them to the bowman alongside with something that made Goodnight laugh.

“Watch out, this will be grand” he smirked, aimed, shot another good for nothing and then focused back on their native companion. Red Harvest drew his bow, the small pack of dynamite tied to an arrow, then made the shot. The next thing they saw from the church’s tower was a pretty explosion and the remnants of the fearsome gun and a few men flying all around. Vasquez’s cheer was louder than anything – he and Faraday was embracing and shouting over one another’s speech as they tried to decide which one of them believed it more that this plan will succeed. Goodnight was also met with arms going around him; Billy tackled him to the floorboards, kissing him with such passion it almost made him forget everything around them.

“They made it Goody” Billy whispered “Now it’s only between their remaining men and us.”

“And we are a lot better, isn’t that right, Billy? We’re outgunning them in the dark with eyes closed.”

“And our hands tied” came the answer from Billy, his mouth in a mischievous grin, eyes full of hope. Goodnight realised only there and then that this was what he had been missing from them; hope that they will really get out of this alive, the both of them, maybe all the seven mercenaries. It was good to see it again, he decided.

 

Sam was acting like a complete stranger, when striding towards Bogue, slowly, telling his story, reminding the man of his deeds - a word for each step, a reminder of what he had done. Goodnight was watching, never even thinking about interfering in this – oh, no, he knew it better. A lot of Rose Creek’s people had the right for revenge on Bogue, but Sam had been carrying this burden, this pain for more than a decade. He had the first right to finish him off. He walked and Bogue crawled until they disappeared in the church, Bogue with his cowardly heart on his sleeve and Sam with his hat in hand. There was shouting – mostly Bogue’s – then silence. Emma came from the other direction, rifle in hand, looking into the churned remains of the temple, and freezing in place. Goodnight jumped at that, as did Billy by his side – Emma wouldn’t raise her gun without seeing trouble and that was exactly what she did. She fired, and everything became silent. Sam emerged from within the church, a hollow expression on his face. It was finished. His vengeance and their job was complete.

***

“So, what about visiting that lake?” Billy asked innocently enough as they were mounting up, Faraday and Vasquez whispering amongst themselves already sitting on their horses. They had gotten closer, Goodnight thought, and seeing them ready to part ways from them sometime soon and continuing their journey together made him think of the old days, when Billy and he would do the same: talk and travel and hide what was obvious. Maybe one day that two will figure out the truth about themselves, or at least Goodnight hoped so. A partner not only in crime but in everything else can change so much for so amazing – he glanced over to his lover and thanked God for allowing them to meet. He was alive and Billy was alive and they were there for each other, being pillars, being the strength the other needed. Billy smiled at Goodnight and as he returned it, Billy felt at peace – with the whole word, the memories of the war and also with himself. 

“Maybe after we drop off these two” – Goodnight poked a finger towards Vasquez and Faraday whom were so deep in their hushed conversation they didn’t even notice it. 

“Sounds great” said Billy, mirroring Goodnight from earlier “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story ever that is somewhat bigger than a drabble, and I'm proud of it as hell. Also I'm absolutely terrified to post this, and in the same time a want to (it has been waiting since October to be published).
> 
> It was partially beta'd by @SheenaWilde, whom I owe all the thanks in this universe for helping me correcting my horrible English. (There are parts that creeped into the story after being beta read so if you catch anything that's incorrect/unclear, please throw a message so I can corect it.)


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